Be Strong
by Layered like an Onion
Summary: A small Wicked one-shot. A child Elphaba is babysitting and trying to help calm down her crying baby sister Nessarose.


**LlaO-**** A short one-shot I wrote when I was annoyed with my new baby sister's screaming. But I do**_** love**_** her, she was just irritating me. And guess what my newfound obsession is? Yes, **_**Wicked**_**!**

It has been what seems like hours, when it has probably only been minutes. I'm in Nessa's room, leaning over her rib and trying to calm her down. I've fed her, changed her diaper, burped her, but all she does is scream. _Shut up! _No. I'm sorry, Nessa, I didn't really mean it, I love you. Maybe her little legs are in pain again. I had massaged them an hour ago, and she had seemed to calm down slightly after that. But now she's screaming again, crying for my attention. She's always been the favorite, even if my father has never really liked me in the first place. Ever since Nessa was born, I've becomes a substitute maid for her, catering to her wants and needs night and day. I run myself ragged trying to help her. I love her, I really do, but sometimes she just drives me crazy! What's a little girl to do? Nessa's growing fast, and she's already filling both of my arms when I hold her. Even though I'm taller than most Munchkin kids my age, I still have to use a stepstool to raise her out of her tall crib. She can't hold herself up all the way yet, and sometimes when I'm stepping down, she'll flop and cause me to fall off the stepstool. To keep her safe, I always hold her close and fall on myself. I've got some really bad bruises from doing that. Father scolds me for being clumsy, even though it was not my fault. And when he's had a really bad day at work—being the governor and all—he'll throw things at me and I have to run away. _Why does he have to be so mean to me?_

Oh, I think that's him now. He just slammed the door _really_ hard. He must be in a bad mood! Oh, if he hears Nessa's crying, he'll get mad at me for not making her happy! I don't want Father to throw things at me again. I try to quiet her down by putting her pacifier in her mouth, but she doesn't take it and keeps screaming. _Shh, Nessa! Shhh!_ I silently beg her to be quiet. Oh sweet Oz, Father is coming down the hallway. My heart is pounding faster than the Ozian Express Train. I flick her mobile with my magic to start it spinning above her head in a last attempt to calm her. Oh, my. Father slammed open the door. I freeze in my tracks, a deer caught in the middle of a road.

"Get out!" he simply screams, and I rush past him. He grabs something off a shelf and throws it at me as I fling open my bedroom door at the end of the hallway. It slides past me and into my room. I close my door and collapse against it. I bring my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs. My ears were fuzzing and felt dulled by her piercing screams. I look up through my blurry, tear-streaked eyes and saw what he had thrown at me. The dark orange light of the setting sun streamed through my small window and glinted off etched glass. It was the vial Mother had had of that weird green liquid that was the same color as my skin. I crawled to it on hands and knees and grabbed it. I sat back and held it out flat in my palm. The liquid sloshed thickly back and forward in the bottle as it settled. Mother had never told me what it was, or why she had it. She had given it to me when she, well, _passed_. I wrap my fingers around it and hold it close to my heart, gently rocking back and forth.

"Be strong, Elphaba,"she had said. "Be strong and be good." Her voice didn't seem hers, or her face, or anything else about her. The mother I remembered was beautiful and rosy and tough. Even through all of my father's hatred for me, Mother had still seemed to love me, or at least what I knew of love. She had been brave and young, but that was not the woman dying before my eyes. She had grown grey and old, and her voice was weakened and raw from the awful milkflowers. She was no longer the mother I knew, she was a different person altogether.

"I will," I had said, at the time not knowing how hard it was to be strong.

That was only a couple months ago. I had promised her I'd be strong. I had promised her I'd be good. I _will_ be strong, and I _will_ be good. No matter what anyone else says, I will try to help my sister in whatever ways I can. She's the only thing that truly loves me right now. I wipe my nose and the tears from my eyes with my sleeve. I don't want to be a servant for the rest of my life, but for now, I will be. It's fun to play pretend, isn't it? Sometimes I make believe I'm normal, that I'm exactly like everyone else. My skin is a normal color, like anyone else's. I play with other kids and they don't try to avoid me. I have friends, and they like to be around me. No one teases me; no one points and laughs; no one whispers mean things about me to their friends. I don't feel so bad when I pretend. Until Nessa and I are grown up, I will pretend to be her servant. It will be fun. I hope.

_Be strong, Elphaba,_ I think to myself, my new mantra. _Be strong and be good._


End file.
